Keeping Me Alive
by ECaitlin
Summary: Annie's voice is what Finnick hears when the capitol tries to unhinge him with the Jabberjays during the Quarter Quell, but who is Annie? How did the love between her and Finnick grow to be? Includes the Games in which Annie is a victor and the aftermath.
1. The Reaping

Waking up after a restless night of sleep, my body feels tired and bruised. Before I even open my eyes, I'm disoriented. When I do open them, I quickly take in my surroundings, making sure to catalog every little thing, down to the tiniest little chain anklet laying on my dresser.

Because today is the day of the reaping, and this could be the last time I see any of it. Well, not the anklet. That I will take with me. I only ever wear it on reaping day, too afraid to break it, or lose it. Both of these would result in a break down, I'm sure.

It is the only thing I have of my mothers and it is extremely dear to me.

After she died, my father burned everything. Her clothes, the pictures. Madness, everyone says. I truly don't believe that. I think it's just too painful for him to be reminded of what he's lost all the time. My little, delicate anklet is the only thing I have left.

I stand up and quickly bathe myself before putting on one of my prettiest dresses. It's simple black, but the cut looks nice on me. I bend down and carefully put the little chain around my ankle. In District four, even though we are treated more like pets then most of the other districts, nice jewelry is still not a common occurrence. The only reason my mother even had it was because it was passed down from her mother.

I give myself a quick look in the mirror to make sure everything looks alright, but don't look too closely. It's not that I'm unattractive. I'm sure most people would even go as far as call me beautiful. But when I look at my flowing dark brown hair, or my blue eyes that contrast so nicely with the dark hair, or my full lips, or small but curvy body, I don't see beauty. No, all I see is my mother.

That is what makes me quickly turn from the mirror.

It's not until I get down stairs and my fathers eyes fill with pain and sadness that I realize what I've done. In my hurry to get ready, I didn't really pay attention to anything about the dress but the look. I didn't think back to when I last wore it.

It's only now that I realize it was the dress I wore to my mother's funeral.

"I'll go change!" I say quickly, hoping that the sight of me in this dress doesn't pull him back into the deep depression that he succumbed to after her death.

"Annie," He starts.

"No, no." I rush. "It's no problem at all."

But I can't make it up the stairs because he's grabbed me by the arm. Not painfully, but hard enough that I can't continue.

"I'm not that fragile anymore," My father says quietly. I search his eyes, his entire face, to ensure that he is telling the truth. "It's just a dress." He says firmly.

"Alright." I say, nodding.

Once I accept that he is fine, I carefully pull a spot of lint off of his nice, although very old and worn, black dress shirt. Then, together, we head to the streets for the reaping.

Being in a district that is much better off then most in Panem, some of district Four actually _wants_ to be in the games. I never understood this, not being a fighter myself. We were one of the three districts that bred the Careers, the other districts name for the participants in the games that we already trained well in combat.

As I'm heading to my roped off area with the other girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen that I consider the fact that anyone here, the girl in front of me, tall and muscular, or the small child, probably just turned twelve, could be killed, or become a killer, in the next two weeks.

All because our ancestors decided to try and overthrow the Capitol. All because of something that no one alive today can even remember the full details of, let alone been a part of. We must suffer losing two children from each district every year. And there's nothing anyone in the districts can do about it.

Of course, the Capitol has given each person a chance to save themselves. If you manage to kill off the other competitors, known as tributes, and survive what ever the game makers throw at you, you can come home. But only one gets that privilege.

Either way, the districts still lose all twenty-four of those children because no one coming out of the Hunger Games could ever be considered a child anymore.

Instead of continuing these horrible thoughts, I try and distract myself with what was going on up on the stage, where the previous Games winners, the mayor, and an escort from the Capitol are. The Capitol man, Arterus, is there to reap the name of the girl and boy who will be put in the games. It is also their job to make sure those tributes arrive on time at the Capitol, and whatever else they do before the games.

Capitol people are so odd. Right now, Arterus's skin is dyed a grotesque purple that looks as if he's covered in one giant bruise, and his bright orange hair and lips contrast it in a very unflattering way.

I am puzzling over why anyone would dye their skin when the name is called for the girl tribute.

"Annie Cresta!" Arterus calls out clearly in his cheerful voice.

For a second I am to distracted by the anger building inside me at how cheerful and happy Arterus is to practically tell some poor child that her life is probably over, when the name actually clicks in my head. By that point I'm already being gently shoved up the steps and onto the stage. I feel so sick, my stomach wanting to throw up food that I didn't even have a chance to eat, when I feel myself start to sway dangerously.

I'd probably of stumbled, fallen off the stage, cracked my skull open and died if strong arms hadn't grabbed me.

I look into the beautiful sea green eyes but I am not comforted. Finnick Odair's patent cocky and seductive smile does not make me feel better.

I'm so caught up in my own melt down that I don't realize the boys name that was called. Eventually a tall, blonde, muscular boy joins me on the stage. I try to think of his name, but really all I can think about is how large, imposing he is.

His name really doesn't matter, though. What does matter is the fact that I know he could, without hardly lifting a finger, end my life. He's bred to do this. Even if we're from the same district, I never got the chance to bulk up or train to fight. I am as helpless as any normal tribute from the worse off districts.

I might as well have been seven instead of seventeen for all the power I have to fight someone his size with. I have no chance at all in these games. I am as defenseless as a bird with no wings. I am incapable of flight, and no chance to fight.

I am dead.


	2. To the Capitol

I sit in the holding room for the recently reaped tributes, waiting for my father to come in and say our final goodbyes. We both know that there's really no chance for me. But I am the only thing he has left now, and it breaks my heart to know that he will have to go on.

In my opinion, dying is the easy part. By the time they get me into the small room, I already accept my fate. It terrifies me, but not as much as the thoughts of what my father will be like after I'm gone. It's the people alive, left to mourn those who are gone, that are the worse off. At least I get a peaceful oblivion.

He walks in, already looking defeated, just as I feel. He tries to smile, but I can see the tears in his eyes. He was only just beginning to get better after my mothers death, too. Now I see that all the progress he made will be completely destroyed.

"I love you." My father says quietly. He's having a hard time looking at me.

"I love you, too." I reply back.

I really don't know what else there is to say. Tell the other to stay safe? We know that is not an option for me, and I know that my father will see safety for himself as pointless after I am taken from him.

"You look like they've already killed you." He says, finally meeting my eyes.

When I don't reply, I see the sadness in his eyes change into anger. "You can't just give up! You have to at least try!" He says, grabbing my hands.

"There's no point." I tell him honestly. If there was, I wouldn't have given up.

"Yes, there is. There's always a reason to try." He tells me.

After a few moments, I finally nod. "I will not go down without a fight." I tell him. I know I stand no chance, but I also know that, like any tribute, when the time comes I will most likely turn violent and kill other people.

Besides, size and training isn't _always_ the winning factor in the games. Sometimes brains is enough to keep you alive. That alone is enough to give me a small ray of hope, and I cling to it like a life preserver.

My father and I tell each other we love the other one more time, and then he is gone, and I am left with nothing but the small ray of hope, burning through me and keeping me from drowning in despair.

No one else comes to say goodbye to me, and I really don't mind. No one else really matters to me anyways.

Finally Arterus comes into the room and I am brought to the train that will take me on to the Capitol.

There is a surprising amount of victors on the train, there to help us as mentors. There's Finnick, the gorgeous young victor who won his games only five short years ago, Mags, an extremely old woman who has mentored for years, Ralph, a middle aged man who I knew had won his games because he was deadly in hand to hand combat, and Spear, a women in her mid thirties who was appropriately named because, when she finally got her hand on a spear, her games were over within the next twelve hours.

I think of all these people, except maybe Mags, and compare them to the tribute on my team. I learned that his name was Gash. The thought made me sick. Anyways, Gash was like a younger version of all of the other Victors from my district. Handsome, large, and most likely well trained in the art of killing.

I shiver, thinking about how incompetent I am, compared to the young man who will also be my enemy in the games. He has barely taken notice of me, though. I know it is because I am small and look like I can't hurt a fly. And maybe he's right. Maybe I should be wrote off as a none-threat. Because then I can calculate a plan of survival. One that will involve the smallest amount of killing on my part, but a lot of staying alive.

My brains are the only thing that are going to get me out of this.

"So, Annie," Mags looks at with a small smile on her face. "What kind of previous training do you have?"

I realized everyone had been questioning Gash. Now all the attention seemed to be focused on me, though.

"None." I say confidently. Maybe it's not something to be proud of, but now that I have that ray of hope, I will not go done without a fight. And maybe a good amount of attitude and faking it. "But what I lack in brute force I more then make up for it in intelligence."

Okay, maybe that was a bit of a stretch, but still.

Mags smiles at this. "I bet you do." She says, and it's not at all sarcastic.

"Can you possibly harm anyone with _any_ kind of weapon?" Asks Spear.

"I don't know. Possibly, but I've never really attempted to." I admit. "I can make a pretty good net, but so can just about anyone from our District, so that's really not surprising."

"But it's better than nothing." Finnick puts in. "Even if you can't kill, if you trap a victor, no doubt eventually someone would come by and finish them all. Then all you'd have to do is wait it out until there's only one left, and find a way to strike."

I stare at him a moment. What he said truly amazes me. Not because it was genius, but because it was the exact plan I had. As little killing as possible, mostly just surviving, until I honestly had no choice but to bloody my hands.

And here I thought Finnick was nothing but a handsome face and an ability to throw a trident. Not that he's not exceptional with the trident, because he is, but because from what I've seen of his Games, he didn't seem like the type of person to calculate a plan like that. One that was not only smart, but also as compassionate as one could be when the only way to survive is to kill others.

Eventually Finnick becomes annoyed at my expression and snaps, "I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

I shake my head quickly. "No, I didn't mean–"

But the words are pointless. Finnick just waves his hand to cut me off.

I notice Gash has said nothing during this exchange and see him glaring daggers in my direction. It takes me a minute to realize that it's because I'm getting special treatment. No one orchestrated an entire plan to survive for him. They all just expected he'd kill anyone who threatened his life in the arena.

"Just know that if you trap me in a net that I will be able to remove my self from it, and I will come after you." He says angrily.

For a second his threat rocks me. And know he's telling the truth, and I also know that I could accidently bring on my own fate. I can't control who steps into one of my traps. All I can do is sit there, afraid, until something comes to mind.

"Just so everyone knows, I'm fast." I say remembering that sometimes force and brains aren't always the winner of the games, either. I realize I have another valuable ability. "None of the other girls have ever been able to catch up to me, and I guarantee it'll be hard for anyone in the arena too."

Dash sizes me up, and searches my face.

"You're right." He says, sounding a little amazed. "None of the guys could catch you either. One second you were there, the next you were gone. Before any of us even really started you were off."

"We have to ask," Ralph butts in. "If you would like to be trained together or separately."

Before Dash or I have a chance to answer, Finnick cuts in. "Remember that if you do decide to be trained together that, at least at the beginning, it would benefit the both of you to be allies. Being enemies, you would know to much about each other, and that is a risk."

I don't say anything, because I know that no matter what, the choice is not mine. Even if I say yes, train us together, it is ultimately Dash who will decide our fates.

He takes a few moments to think things through, and then finally decides. "How about, for the first day, we train together. If you can manage to handle at least one kind of weapon, and are good for something other than fleeing and trapping, then we'll continue to work together." He say to me directly. "If not, then we will be trained separately."

I agree, mostly because I know that, if I manage to impress him, he could help prolong my life longer than I would be able to on my own. And having a partner is never a bad thing, going into the games. Especially one from your district because, in the end, if they are the one to kill you, the repercussions if they return home would be severe.

I am elated by my chance to work together with Dash that, all through dinner, I am happier than I could have imagined just hours ago, saying goodbye to my father. The food is delicious, and it tastes even better knowing that I might have a chance at making the return trip in this train.


	3. Training with Finnick

After dinner, we are allowed to do what ever we want. There's separate rooms for each of us, and also a big common room. I decide that perhaps I will go take a nap and just settle into bed when a knock comes at my door.

I open it, not really knowing who to expect. When I realize that it's Finnick, looking both bored and amused, an expression that only he can pull off, I am surprised.

"Can I help you?" I ask, still confused.

"I think the real question," He says, leaning towards me so he's only inches away from me. "Is what can I do to help you."

Immediately, I am annoyed. I know better then to take a step back, though. That would signal weakness, and I feel like this is a sort of test. So I carefully place my hands on his chest and gently push him out of my personal space. It is not an aggressive move, just a slight shove a few inches back.

Finnick smiles.

"So," I ask, finally taking the bait that he's been dangling in front of me. "What can you do for me? I mean, besides annoy me."

Finnick laughs, looking even more amused. "Well, that depends. You see, my services do not come cheap."

It takes me a moment to realize what he's implying. Everyone knew about Finnick's exploits. His many lovers in the Capitol. It was rumored that they even though they were his lovers, he always got money out of it. That he took pleasure in sleeping with women when in return they paid him with either gifts, or money.

He is soliciting sex to me.

So I do the only thing that comes to mind. I raise my hand to slap him across the face, but he is a Victor of the Games, after all, and his reflexes are extremely fast. Before I come close to his face, he grabs my wrist in a hard lock.

"What was that for?" He demands. This is the first time I've seen him anything but cocky, smiling, or amused. Except for when he was in the Games.

I jerk my hand out of his grip and rub it. It's a little sore from his grip. "How dare you imply that I–" I stop for a second, getting upset about it all over again. "What kind of person do you think I am? And, just so you know, I have no money. My family is poor. Not that I would ever, in a million years, even entertain the thought of paying you for sex. You sick–"

"What?" Finnick asks, suddenly even more upset. "I didn't mean that."

"Then what, exactly," I ask, my eyes narrowing. "Were you suggesting?"

"That I try and teach you a few things before you go into training. Give you an edge that you don't have." He says angrily. I can see that what I thought truly upset him. "I was going to try and help you so that Dash will ally with you!"

My eyes widen a bit. Now that his true intentions are clear, I feel like an idiot. And, more than that, I feel like a terrible person. I have insulted him, when all he came to do was help try and save me life or, at the very least, prolong it.

"Sorry." I choke out, finally finding my voice, which felt stuck with guilt. "I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have jumped to that insulting conclusion." And I genuinely am sorry.

Finnick's eyes narrow. He turns and takes a step away, but turns around after a few steps.

"Personal feelings aside, it is my job to help prepare you for the games. If you want my help, come on. I'm only offering it this one time." He tells me and, without a word, continues down the hall.

I run after him.

Together we walk silently through the car until we come into the kitchen. I look around, amazed that such a huge space was set into this train. It didn't look possible.

I spot a plate of cake, sitting in one corner, but don't dare touch it. Finnick notices me staring at it and cuts a piece off and puts it on a plate for me.

"Thanks." I say, and take a large bite of it. It's beyond delicious, of course.

Finnick goes through all of the drawers, obviously looking for something. He finally finds it, pulling out a wicked sharp looking knife. He hands it to me and I take it, careful not to cut myself or Finnick with the sharp edge.

Then Finnick turns to a large box shaped thing. I have no idea what it is, but when Finnick opens it, I can see it's filled with dead animals.

"I knew they had to carry it somewhere on the train." Finnick said, digging around in the box.

It takes everything in my not to get sick at the site of all the dead animals. How could I kill someone if I can't even look a dead cow in the eyes?

After a few disgusting minutes, Finnick pulls out a semi-large animal. Not as big as a cow, but much larger than a turkey. I've never seen it before.

"It's a pig." Finnick tells me. "And you are going to use it to practice."

"What do you mean?" I ask him. I stare at the thing for a minute before I realize what he means. "I can't!"

"You can," He says harshly. "And you will. If you want to live, that is."

"Fine!" I shout, angry. I wasn't the type of person who was good with hurting things.

Finnick led me out into the common room again and put the pig on a table. I stared at the thing, horrified. It was sick looking, sitting there, dead. I would have nightmares about this picture for weeks, I just know it.

"I want you to throw that knife as hard as you can at the pig." Finnick tells me.

Fighting the urge to vomit, I hold the handle of the knife tightly in my hand. Then I bring it back and, putting a lot of weight into it, throw the deadly thing in the direction of the disgusting dead animal. And it misses.

By a lot.

"You're doing it all wrong." Finnick tells me.

He walks over to the knife, picks it up, and brings it back to me. This time he makes me hold the blade, not the hilt.

"You put too much power into it last time, that's why the aiming was so off. There's no point throwing it as hard as you can if you're not going to hit anything." Finnick says. "Try again."

And I do, this time throwing it a lot more gently. It bounces off the face of the pig, like rubber.

"Try a little lower." He says once he hands the knife back to me.

I don't know how long we practice for, but it's at least an hour before I can even hit it low enough for Finnick to be happy. But even then the knife just bounces off again.

"I can't do it!" I say, frustrated. "How many times do I have to fail before you realize this?"

"Until you get it right!" Finnick snaps.

I think I'm probably the one person in the world who aggravates Finnick. He's usually so carefree about things, but in the short time I've known him I've upset him too many times to count.

Angry at Finnick, at myself for failing, at the Capitol for putting me through this, I angrily throw the stupid knife again.

And, with a sickening squelching sound, it drives itself into the chest of the pig.

That's also when I finally lose hold of all the food I'd eaten today. I ran, hand clutched to my mouth, to the nearest bathroom.

"Annie!" Finnick calls through the bathroom door. "Annie!"

"Give me a minute!" I shout back, my throat hoarse from vomiting.

After searching the bathroom for something to rinse my mouth with, and coming across a bottle of liquid that smelled strongly of mint, I read the back of it and did as was instructed.

Then I made sure my breath didn't smell anymore, and opened the door. Finnick stood there, looking furious.

"What?" I ask him, shrinking back a little. This angry, Finnick is very frightening. It's hard not to picture him skewering people with his trident. That's how I felt, skewered by his eyes, which were so intense that I couldn't look at them for too long.

"What is wrong with you?" He thundered. "How are you supposed to survive if you can't even stab a god damn pig, that's already dead, without flipping out?"

"It was repulsive!" I snapped back.

"So?" He shouted. "It's going to be worse when it's an actual person! How are you going to handle killing someone still alive? You're not!"

"Fine then! I'm helpless!" I screamed. "Then leave me alone and let me die in peace!"

"No!" Finnick shouted, though he was being considerably less loud now. He grabbed me by the arm and dragged be back into the common room.

He removed the knife from the pig, which left a thick trail of blood that didn't look quite normal, probably because the animal was long dead. Finnick handed me the blood knife.

"Go up there and stab it. No throwing this time. I want you to slit its throat. And no throwing up this time!" Finnick said, still looking extremely furious.

Thankful that there really wasn't anything left in my stomach to throw up, I approached the pig.

"So you just want me to..." I trailed off. I looked at the pig and raised the knife, feeling sick _and_ stupid.

"Pretend it's an enemy and _kill it _!"

I closed my eyes, grabbed the head of the pig, which felt rubbery and disgusting, and pressed the blade of the knife hard against its throat. Then I slid it from one side to the other.

When I opened my eyes, there was a deep gash along its throat and a steady trickle of blood was flowing from the wound.

"Think you can handle doing that to someone alive?" Finnick asked me, watching me closely.

"I don't know." I replied honestly. "Part of me says no, but then another part says that, if it was life or death, I might be able to."

"It _is_ life or death." Finnick says seriously. "So you'd better be sure you can. Practice throwing it some more. I'd rather you not get close enough to have to stab anyone. With your size, if it came down to hand-to-hand battle, you'd probably lose."

"Thanks." I muttered sarcastically.

Finnick and I practice my throwing skills until my hand cramps but I always sink the knife into the pig. By now the pig looks unrecognizable with all the stab wounds it has.

"Can we stop now?" I ask.

"Sure. I don't see how we could improve anymore, anyways." Finnick says, sinking into one of the plush couches.

After putting the bloodied knife on the table beside the pig corpse, I join him on the in the world has ever felt as wonderful as that couch, and before I even realize it I've fallen asleep.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are always nice to see, too!<strong>


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